The Things We Learn From Flowers
Written by Becky
My mother told me a story about the first time she ever received flowers from a boy.
She was about eighteen years old, in Korea and was hospitalized due to an illness. Around this time, there was a young man who had interest in her and often would visit her at work or ask her to go out, and though my mother appreciated his interest to a certain point, she said she knew from the beginning that he was not the guy for her.
“He was very handsome”, she said, looking mischievous while we talked around the dinner table. “He was one of the handsomest men I had ever seen, and he was really nice. He even came from a family with money. But there wasn't much inside his head.”
My mother at that young age believed that getting flowers from a man was the height of romantic behavior. She dreamed of getting a bouquet of beautiful roses from The One and they'd fall in love and run off into the sunset. Or something along those lines.
It was one day when this handsome, rich suitor without-many-lights-on-in-the-attic came calling to her hospital bed. He timidly came through the door, bearing a great bundle of flowers, their stems held tightly in his hand as he nervously greeted her, his face peering out over the petals. “He was too sweet,” mom said, shaking her head.
But my mother is not one who minces words. She doesn't waste time either, and not especially when it concerned matters of the heart. The poor boy had unwittingly woken up the dragon. My mother so firmly dreamed of getting her first flowers from her true love that the image of this young man who hitherto simply had been a cause for exasperated affection had now forever ruined that fairy-tale moment. To say my mother was displeased is an understatement of the severest kind.
I don't know if the next part of the story is true, but according to my mother's masterful telling of her tale, the young man ran out of the room, the roses on the floor where my mother said she had thrown them after telling him to get out and get a life.
“I think he was crying,” mom mused as she washed the dishes.
“Mom, that’s awful!” My sisters and I protested, partly horrified, partly amused.
“You have to tell them from the beginning, hard! Or else they will never give up,” mom said, “Besides,” her temper turning for the hotter, “he gave me roses!”
Those flowers. The impetus for such outrage
How funny that flowers can arouse such strong feelings. Common daisies conjure images of summer days in the meadow, tulips fill us with the expectation of spring, and the red rose means sensuality, love, and romance.
To me, flowers mean the promise of something new. Winter feels longer every year and I find myself feeling blue on cold days. My mind tends to dwell on the melancholy as the sun sets early, watching it sink while my breath mists in the frigid air. I forget that springtime will ever come until those first buds struggle to open up. Fragile and quiet, a single, early spring bloom seems to awaken sleeping flowers in my own heart.
Do flowers exist just to show the reckless beauty of our world? Those frail things with no logical meaning, that do nothing but flirt with hummingbirds and bumblebees, and make us smile and cry.
This is Kukka Flower Cafe. They have three locations so far, but this is the one at Gwanghwamun (광화문). It's pretty and quaint. The things here that I love best are their teal cups and sprigs of baby's breath on the tables. There are the cafes as well as an offline store where they only sell flowers. You can also order online and have flowers delivered.
I have found that those who love flowers genuinely seem to have a kindness that is patient and gentle. Perhaps it comes with the time it takes to grow plants and learning to wait for them to bloom, or considering just how much water to give, how to handle them, offering just enough sunlight, paying attention to their silent needs. This patient, gentle kindness does the same thing for people - it helps us grow.
There's much we can learn from flowers.
I think I'll pick up a few roses on my way home tonight.